


open smother / lipped lover

by notorious



Series: a flood of blood to the heart [1]
Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Full Tribrid Hope, they take care of each other, two big softies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 11:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22849666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notorious/pseuds/notorious
Summary: Hope isn’t always sure about one very specific little thing. Josie is.
Relationships: Hope Mikaelson/Josie Saltzman
Series: a flood of blood to the heart [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666333
Comments: 10
Kudos: 198





	open smother / lipped lover

**Author's Note:**

> behold: a ficlet. couldn’t stop thinkin about a scene like this so i did the thing. title from bloodflood pt. ii by alt-j.
> 
> times are tuff so if you like what i do, consider buying me a "coffee" right [here](https://ko-fi.com/danceswithghosts) !!

There’s a rule against what Hope and Josie are about to do.

There are also laws against underage drinking, and they’ve already broken those, so what’s a little Salvatore School rule to top it all off? Hope’s broken so many of those over the years that she’s not sure they actually exist any longer. Josie is less inclined to favor delinquency, but she’s okay with this. 

This is necessary. On a cellular level.

“You’re sure?” Hope asks for the third time in thirty seconds. She always asks.

“Yes,” Josie tells her. Explicit consent. Josie always says yes.

It’s a delicate dance.

Hope’s always conflicted at the start of it, so Josie leads. Perches herself on the edge of Hope’s bed and reaches for the tribrid’s hips to pull her in close. Hope smells of honey, pine, and cloves, and Josie isn’t sure she’s ever smelled anything more comforting. Her second comfort is Hope’s hesitant hands on her arms, her shoulders, and finally her face. Hope is always gentle with her — until she isn’t. Josie likes it either way.

“You’re absolutely sure?” Comes out as a mumble, Hope’s eyes cloudy and inquisitive, and Josie doesn’t know what to do other than crack a fond little smile. 

It’s sweet, she thinks, how much Hope needs to know she’s okay and unafraid and safe. So, “ _ Yes _ ,” Josie insists, “I’m always sure, Hope.”

And there’s a moment, always some variation of the same, where Hope takes a minute just to  _ look  _ at her, take her in, trace her jaw with gentle fingertips and stroke the slope of her neck nice and slow like she’s fine china and anything less tender will pose a threat. 

Josie doesn’t think she’s ever felt safer than when she’s with Hope.

Hope mutters, “You know I have to ask,” and Josie comes right back with, “C’mere, dummy,” and pulls the tribrid against her, and they’re tumbling. 

The bed is poorly made and a pair of textbooks lie open on Hope’s pillow but the only thing either one of them cares about is the other. Josie stretches out on her back and Hope comes down on top of her. It feels like warm summer evenings and breezy spring mornings as Hope kisses her cheeks, her chin. And, finally, when their lips meet in the middle, when Josie’s hands fall to Hope’s back, when Hope hums against her mouth, it’s like white tea: hot and soothing, gentle, not as charged as its brethren, but enough. Feels right.

It feels like home.

And it feels like fire when Hope tucks into Josie’s neck, ice when she mouths at the hollow of her throat, raging waters when she whispers, breathless, “ _ Tell me one more time _ ,” against Josie’s ear.

Anything for Hope.

“I know you can smell me,” Josie murmurs, eyes shut, lips parted and ready for the everlasting gasp that always comes when Hope takes her like she’s about to. She lifts a hand, cradling the back of Hope’s head to comfort her, coax her on, fingertips drifting through auburn waves, and tells her, “I know you’re hungry.”

Hope nestles in, hips slotted between Josie’s thighs, breath hot against her neck. Stalling.

“ _ Drink _ ,” Josie orders, and Hope breaks.

Sinks into her in body and soul, fangs into a warm vein, heart into the dark. It burns Josie like a bee sting until it calms her, a familiar ache, a give and take of blood and trust, a display of nurture and nature, of necessity, and of lust.

Hope was never supposed to become a vampire.

Josie can’t fix that, but she can satiate it.

Animal blood is rarely enough to keep the tribrid at bay. 

Josie’s is always enough.

**Author's Note:**

> come bother me on twitter @TRIBRlD if you are so inclined


End file.
